


dawn, dusk, dawn again

by eustomas



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Timeline What Timeline, dont look at me, gratuitous abuse of punctuation italics AND parentheses, lapslock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustomas/pseuds/eustomas
Summary: dawn /dɔːn/noun1. the first appearance of light in the sky before sunrise.---or, alternatively, a collection of stray vignettes
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, implied Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 41
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo im new here and know nothing and am still waiting to get the full game but these two happened and i was Possessed by the urge to write, idk what characterization is and can only write dumb pining, pls enjoy regardless

_1\. wounds_

it becomes something of a habit, after the first few times. 

a bad one, he tells himself, one he will break before it can happen again, but his fights are many and he is so, so furiously reckless that it becomes inevitable.

his wounds now always end with aymeric next to his side, steady hands holding bloodied cloth and a gentle touch against his broken skin, a sort of care and worship he does not feel worthy of but can't seem to walk away from.

"please do take better care on the battlefield, my friend," aymeric says after, when the work is done and there is distance between them again. "for my sake at the very least."

estinien does not answer, for fear of what words would dare come out.

* * *

_2\. cashmere_

he tries to protest, to deny and be as stubborn as it takes, but he forgets that aymeric can be just as bad as him, worse even. in this regard, aymeric won't give him any ground.

it is a battle he cannot win.

so he lets himself fall unceremoniously on the soft mattress, the room warm from the fire, lit golden and welcoming. it feels like something from a faraway dream, this comfort he has not allowed himself in so long during his travels — cashmere sheets and down pillows and aymeric looking at him with a warmth in his eyes that makes him look away.

(estinien still does not deserve it, has not done nearly enough to earn it after all his mistakes)

"shall i stay the night here too, lest you try to flee in the night again?"

something resembling a laugh tumbles out of estinien's mouth, leaves the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

"no need, my friend. no, i am here to stay."

* * *

_ 3\. ravenous _

estinien is no stranger to beasts, to fiends and dragons and monsters, to the thrill of facing a powerful adversary, of fighting tooth and nail to survive, to walk away the bloodied victor.

those, he does not fear.

what he fears is the ravenous hunger in his chest, this endless want that does not cease no matter how deep he buries it, first under rage and vengeance, then regret, and now under every other thing he can find, any reason to try to strangle it before it takes flight and escapes him.

he must never let aymeric know, not with what his position now entails, the responsibility and duty he has to his people, the fragility of this new time for ishgard.

so he grapples with this, this  _ desire _ , drags it to the bottom of his heart so it may never see the light of day, so he does not ruin the one hope ishgard has with his stained hands.

it is a battle he's been slowly losing for years.

* * *

_ 6\. haunt _

there is this one specific memory, one among many others, that haunts him on particularly bad days, when he catches himself staring for a beat too long and guilt rises up like bile in his throat, when too many thoughts cloud his mind and aymeric’s soft words lead him down a treacherous slope with no end in sight.

they had been mere temple knights then, so young and already so set on their paths.

estinien remembers a dim-lit tavern, drinks flowing freely and knights making merry after a hard won battle. remembers the flush high on aymeric’s cheeks from all the mulled wine. remembers how they’d stumbled to their quarters, half hanging off each other and dizzy. 

worse still, he remembers how they’d fallen on the single cot together in a mess of limbs; how aymeric had laughed in a way only a drunk would, oblivious and blissed out, three sheets to the wind; how he’d adamantly refused to let him make the trek to his own quarters in the middle of the night, asked him to stay. 

remembers how aymeric had fallen asleep then and there against him in barely a moment, completely unaware of the thoughts in estinien’s mind, cloyingly sweet like a special brand of poison.

remembers that one moment of weakness, laying down and slowly letting himself relax, letting his body find rest. remembers viciously choking down all the errant want in his veins and then finally, finally succumbing to sleep after what must have been an eternity.

(remembers aymeric’s hand reaching out, fingers gently tangling together, and not letting go.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i saw estinien with a back window on his armor and my brain unlocked its single horny braincell and i wrote implied sexy times, we're one step closer to writing actual smut folks, we're GETTING there

  1. _cinders_



he knows the heat of dragon fire, knows the unforgiving burn of flames biting against armor, knows what it feels to be a step away from becoming ashes and yet, and _yet_ , he is still taken aback.

nothing could have prepared him for the reality of this.

for aymeric to kiss him back, twice as desperate and just as hungry, fingers tangling in his hair, body pressing close close _closer._ aymeric's touch trails searing hot against his skin, a brand he won't ever be able to forget and he welcomes it, lets himself become cinders, damn whatever ruin awaits them both for it.

* * *

  1. _worship_



he _is_ familiar, distantly, clinically, with his body. 

every scar, every cut and bruise that has left its mark on him, every imperfection and reminder of all his failures. he has learned them like one would learn their numbers — a simple, factual kind of knowledge that sits cold at the back of his mind.

he is familiar with the limits of it, with how much it can take, how far he can go before it starts to fail, before he is to fall.

he does not find any particular worth in it besides the strength it can lend him in battle until one day that, too, is exhausted.

it is why he cannot comprehend this — the gentle sort of reverence in aymeric’s eyes as he trails his hands against each and every mark, hands brushing carefully against marred skin. there is obvious care in it, how aymeric maps every ilm with gentle fingers, as if estinien is something to _treasure_ , as if his body is something worthy of admiration.

(as if he is trying to learn every part of him, as if he wants to remember this moment; them, tangled together and falling down, down, _down_ —)

this display of devotion, care and warmth expressed so openly for him to see, it leaves him breathless. the weight of it makes something searing hot run though his veins and he knows, foolishly, how this one night will end

(the knowledge that there will be nothing for him here, nothing he can ever get to keep and call his own; that sits cold in the back of his mind, too)

and he decides he will not care.

aymeric leads him into a kiss and estinien lets himself have this moment of a dream and whatever else he is given, reaches out to meet him halfway.

the fall is easy.

he does not think about the inevitable crash.

* * *

  1. _sunrise_



it looks no different in the morning light that it did the night before.

estinien feels like there should be a difference, some change he should be able to notice. instead, it is still the unmistakable sight from yesterday. what they’d done is plain as day to see. it makes something pull forcefully around his throat, a suffocating feeling of guilt he knew to expect that still chokes him.

the coming dawn brings only a sense of finality. 

this is a truth he can no longer pretend to reject.

it feels like a privilege regardless, to be able to look upon aymeric in sleep, the first rays of sunrise slowly peeking through the windows and casting him in soft light. he is a vision painted gold, pale skin naked and dark hair a mess of soft curls. 

he looks at peace. content.

estinien wonders for how long as his gaze trails further down, looks at the generous bite marks and reddened bruises trailing down, down. remembers how it felt to be allowed this, how aymeric had _keened—_

he wonders, briefly, how much this fall, this indulgence, will cost him. how much he will have to part with for his transgression, what will become of them after.

it is easy to imagine waking up to this every dawn, easy to imagine a touch returned and a soft look for him only, a secret shared just between the two of them, a thousand sentiments expressed in a single kiss.

it is easy to imagine, but estinien has never been one for lying to himself.

such indulgences serve only to hurt in the end — for all his stubbornness, he knows which battles he cannot win.

so naturally, it comes as a surprise to him when he finds aymeric already awake and looking back at him, a small smile breaking across his face, relief in his eyes and finds only warmth, warmth, warmth.

_(a soft look only for him)_

he feels it when aymeric shifts, moves closer; lays a hand on his cheek, and estinien _freezes,_ pulse beating loudly in his ears. the rhythm sounds like a war drum, the heralding of his coming demise, _thump-thump-thump._

_(a touch returned)_

"so i did not dream it," is all aymeric says before he leans forward slightly, presses their foreheads together. 

"good morning, my love."

_(a thousand sentiments expressed in a single kiss)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so anyway, im still losin my mind abt these two and will be screaming for the foreseeable future, hope u enjoy
> 
> catch me yelling as i play through xiv on my twt @eeustomas and also for general shitposting bc im going to be insufferable when i get to hw, i will Not shut up


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now featuring: haurchefant (and an inebriated very lesbian wol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea of this ot3 has not left me in peace for weeks, have some words i scrambled together to satisfy the brainworms

  1. _secrets_



the mulled wine is warm in their cups; the heat of the hearth even warmer; and the warrior of light hanging off his shoulder, cheeks flushed red, eyes glinting full of excitement, is the warmest of all. tis a comforting warmth, one that brings him such great joy to see — his dear friend resting and making merry for once in her short time here. it is a moment he shall treasure dearly.

and the stories she's telling, those he shall treasure even more,

"and then! then alberic sends me to the...the…oh, i don't remember what it's called?" she starts giggling, laughing at herself, "it doesn't matter! what matters is that i met the love of my life there!" she proclaims, triumphant, raising her cup and laughing again when the wine spills between her fingers.

"is that so, my friend? and you inform me only now? why, i feel utterly slighted!"

"noo, no, no, no," she reaches for him; misses his shoulder and grabs his ear instead, overbalances and falls in a mess of limbs on his lap and then the floor. 

"no, you silly man, i _couldn't_ tell you before," she says with urgency, completely missing the amusement in his voice, "because i have a _plan_!"

"pray tell me who it involves first," haurchefant idly attempts to wrestle her into a lying position and she complies, lets him move her limbs this way and that. she only sighs dreamily in response.

"her name is heustienne and she is the swiftest, most graceful dragoon i've ever seen." there's a brief pause. "please don't tell estinien i said that."

she looks so genuinely distressed it makes him break into a laugh.

"your secret is safe with me, i promise you."

she only looks at him then, dazed; stares as if seeing him for the first time. 

"haurchefant," her voice is grave.

"yes, my friend?"

"who's the love of _your_ life?"

the question catches him off guard — just a bit, just enough for him to hesitate. in the briefest moment of silence that passes, he considers how much to tell her

(if he should at all)

_would you like to know that years ago ser aymeric and i fooled around as young temple knights?_

_would you like to know that i was his first kiss? that it still strikes a blaze within me whenever i think of it?_

_would you like to know that i have not stopped thinking of it for even a day?_

but it's a foolish endeavor, one that can lead nowhere. haurchefant knows what is to be his place, knows what can never be in ishgard 

(and the list is so very long)

so he laughs instead, raises an eyebrow and turns his expression into something cheeky,

"are you worried i'd try to steal your lovely dragoon for myself?"

and in the moment she takes to process the words, the second it takes for her eyebrows to furrow in confusion, then, he thinks of—

_silver hair a mess, a vicious snarl and dirt on his cheeks, blue eyes alit, burning, burning; an impossibly graceful figure leaping into the air—_

(there is a different dragoon he'd like to steal for himself.)

"what? no, of course not, don't be ridiculous," she scrambles to sit up, puts her hands on his shoulders meaningfully. stares right into his eyes. " no, it's about _the_ _plan —_ i get the girl, obviously, but i'll need your help." she leans their faces close, lowers her voice, turns it conspiratorial. 

"and in return, i help _you_ get the love of your life."

tis such a sweet sentiment; his dear friend so resolute and ready, so determined to act. sweet, for all that it is futile. it makes him smile warmly regardless, fondness clear in his eyes, because how fortunate is he to have such a person by his side?

"alas, i doubt there is anything to be done. better to let the matter rest."

the look on her face says the exact opposite, so he steers the conversation back to her, asks increasingly more and more scandalous questions to distract her until the entire topic is forgotten altogether.

it is not the relief he'd hoped it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds head in hands* im so sorry, i consist of 80% vagueness, i swear they WILL kiss at some point eventually


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aymeric, haurchefant, and a beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: oh i mentioned haurche was aymeric's first kiss? i should write that  
> also me: wajt i dont know how to write kisses
> 
> anyway, here, hav some words

  1. _begin_



it is a tentative friendship at first, one that only grows and grows with the passing days — shared backgrounds and shared want to serve, to better their precious city; those are the links that bring them together at the start.

the rest is, as they say, history. 

there is not one person in the whole of ishgard who'd be able to truly resist the charms of one haurchefant greystone, lest of all aymeric. 

it begins as a bud, small and fragile, something aymeric nurtures slowly and carefully with each passing conversation, every word exchanged. it begins with laughter between them, with haurchefant pulling him along towards reckless, mischievous things, playful roughhousing and more serious scuffles, spars that leave them both panting for breath, evenly matched. 

it continues with hopeful smiles on both their faces, grand dreams of the future, of a better ishgard, of a better life for their people, of change. conversations until past curfew, hushed whispers and shared aspirations, a deep sense of understanding between them, a feeling of belonging.

it should not be so surprising then, that what was once a small bud has now grown into so much more, blossomed into something bright and beautiful without him noticing.

bright, beautiful, private and intimate and aymeric's breath catches in his throat, his lungs refusing to work.

it has little to do with the physical extortion and everything with how haurchefant hovers above him, straddling his hips, pinning him down by his wrists, their swords and shields discarded somewhere on the side, long forgotten.

he is victorious in this fight, grinning, vibrant, a burning flame.

"looks like i win."

aymeric stares dumbfounded for a second, something wild and all consuming unfurling in his chest, an epiphany that has him stunned. he cannot move, cannot bring himself to form words, merely looks at haurchefant as if a new sun has risen in the sky, some new light shining on him.

he looks a mess — hair tousled, glinting silver and blue in the fading sunlight; eyes bright, his breath fogging in small clouds in front of him. he leans towards aymeric slightly, tilts his head just the tiniest bit, curious, and aymeric realizes they're suddenly so very close.

haurchefant's lips are curled in a cheeky grin, inviting, welcoming, and a terrible, awful, reckless thought forms his mind. the moment between them drags for another second, a small eternity. 

aymeric decides to be impulsive for once.

haurchefant's hold on his wrists slowly turns lax and aymeric wastes no time, surges  _ up _ . haurchefant clearly isn't expecting it, a small, surprised  _ mngh—?  _ all the reaction he gets before aymeric is pressing their lips together. it is a quick, chaste thing, barely a brush, barely a touch to be felt, but it is enough.

enough to shift their weight, get an arm around haurchefant's shoulder and  _ twist _ , flip them over and look down, down at wide eyes and pink lips and flushed cheeks.

(something heavy settles in aymeric's gut, hot like molten silver, spills through his veins and sets him aflame)

((there will be no coming back from this))

"looks like  _ i  _ win." his voice comes out teasing, full of self-satisfaction he cannot hide. there is only laughter in response, one that tinkles like bells in his ears.

"oh, you are still mistaken, my friend," haurchefant grins, quick, always so quick to understand, "i'm all the more winner for this."

his laughter tastes sweet on aymeric's lips, again and again and again.

(the bud grows and blossoms and becomes a garden)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did the vault yesterday and im still mourning so we're on a five week haurchefant lockdown folks, i am Not coping well


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who finished the final steps of faith and was slapped with the knowledge that aymeric casually wouldn't leave estiniens bedside :))

  1. _dust_



he is the one who stands vigil, sits by the bed and listens to even, shallow breaths, looks for any sign of change, of wakefulness. aymeric cannot bring himself to walk away even when there's so much more to be done; does not wish to, refuses to.

the image of what's happened refuses to leave his mind, becomes all he sees when he closes his eyes but for a moment. estinien — howling in pain, bloodied, _hurt,_ thrashing madly to be free of the eyes; and then, all at once, so, so very still, almost as if lifeless, and the thought of it chills aymeric in a way the eternal winters of coerthas never have. 

he allows himself one moment of weakness as consolidation, a means to keep the mounting dread at bay. one moment in which he selfishly extends a hand, slowly, gently; lays it on estinien's cheek and feels the warmth there, counts his breaths. 

it is not reassurance enough.

he cannot stop it, too exhausted to grapple with the constant want that lurks beneath his skin as he normally would, resolve worn just slightly too thin. the fear will not let him be — even with abel's reassurances of a full recovery, it whispers still, _what if? what if?_

he has already loosened an arrow at estinien's heart once, surely a paltry indulgence such as this can be forgiven?

aymeric carefully sits at the edge of the bed, moves his hand and runs it reverently through loose silver strands; the other one he lays on estinien's breast, feels for the steady beating of his heart. it is proof, indisputable, an endless mantra of _alive, alive, he is still alive._

in this moment aymeric feels something inside him crumble, turn to dust. he cannot name it, knows not if it is hope or despair that abandons him, but it is a catalyst. he leans down, presses their foreheads together in an act of intimacy he'd never be granted otherwise.

seconds turn to minutes and he does not move. the world shifts, rearranges, narrows to this one point of contact between them and there is nothing else, no ishgard and no war, only estinien and aymeric, together in the aftermath.

they stay like that, breaths mingling, estinien ever so still in his sleep — a cruel retelling of many a dream, aymeric finds with little humor.

"return to me," he commands, voice barely a whisper, stained by all the things he has never said, a wretched, desperate plea _._

"return to me, _please_." he closes his eyes and draws a shaking breath, tells himself, _enough._

it will have to be.

aymeric pulls back, but cannot quite bring himself to let go yet. it is so damnably easy to lean down again, to leave a kiss on estinien's brow, a silent confession that holds all the things aymeric dares not ask for.

he must not, he knows this. their years of friendship allow them many ways to be close, but this is not one of them. 

he knows this.

(estinien is drowning, choking in a bottomless ocean of darkness and anger and grief so deep it is immeasurable, indescribable, inescapable, the surface a fading memory, something he cannot reach. there is no air to breathe here, no light to strive towards for as salvation, and he is sinking deeper with each moment, lost, alone—

 _have you not fought enough? is it not time to let go?,_ a voice whispers from somewhere in the depths, a promise of final rest and oblivion.

it makes him still in his thrashing, gives him pause. so tempting it is that for a moment he considers it, lets his body fall lax, surrenders to the encroaching darkness. the cold seeps down to his marrow, a cruel comfort in comparison to the hellish suffering from before that he welcomes.

it is, for a moment, almost his end.

until another voice reverberates through the depths — one wracked with grief and sorrow so heavy, such profound longing in it; a last, heartbroken plea, one that lights an ember among the ashes he has become.

 _return to me_ , it says, whisper soft and mournful.

estinien's eyes snap open in a flash and he knows, deeply, viscerally — he cannot end here.

the waters remain black as tar, oppressive, spread as far as the eye can see in all directions, but now there is a glint, a small shimmer of blue so bright against it that estinien has to wonder how he could've missed it before.

 _return to me, please_ , aymeric says, and estinien will, fury be damned, he _will._

"cease your mewling…it grates my ears."

it is three bells later that alphinaud leveilleur sobs with relief.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DONT KNOW DONT LOOK AT ME IM SAD ABOUT THESE BOYS


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: (prevented?) child abuse (temple knights being awful) in 4. perspective, nothing graphic is described though

  1. _perspective_



_oh, 's merely useless gossip, who'd believe that shite anyroad?_ is what everyone says, but itienne knows better. the new lord commander will be different.

 _she's a smart kid_ , her mother always said, _keen eyes._ she doesn't say it anymore. she doesn't say much of anything anymore, as despondent and soulless as she's become after they lost the others. 

itienne has already passed her thirteenth nameday and her father and sister never got to see it. a pity.

so she roams the brume, runs with the other children and looks for work; scavenges what she can, steals what she can't. most nights she goes to bed hungry, but she cannot lose her mother too. she manages, makes almost enough for two.

at least lots of interesting things happen in the brume, even if most of them are awful. it is a wretchedly miserable existence but sometimes, very rarely, almost like a miracle, something good happens.

itienne has keen eyes and does not forget.

she does not tell, either.

she knows what happens when rumors start, good or bad — someone always ends up missing and they don't always come back.

so itienne stays quiet. she doesn't tell any of her friends about the two temple knights she saw some nights ago wandering the brume, about how strange they'd been, even for temple knights. 

they must've thought they were alone, she reasons. she's small and quiet and has keen eyes, even in the dark; they probably just hadn't noticed her. but she'd noticed _them_.

they'd just talked in the end, sat at the edge of the wall, feet dangling in the mists below, faces barely illuminated by the faint glow of dying lanterns, and yet it had all been so _strange_. 

strange, to see such naked adoration in the black haired one's eyes, how he'd spoken softly to his friend, how he'd reached his hand across the space between them and gently laid it on top of his friend's. 

his friend, the one with the long white hair, he hadn't looked very well — pale and sickly, with deep, dark circles under his eyes and an awful looking bruise on his cheek. there had been something that looked suspiciously like dried blood at the corner of his mouth, too, dirt smeared on his face in places. 

he'd been sitting there alone for a long time before the black haired one had arrived.

 _there you are,_ he'd said, so full of relief, _i've been looking all over for you._

the white haired one hadn't liked that. he'd scowled, turned away harshly, tried to leave. had frozen completely when the black haired one reached for him, gently brushed the blood off his lips, inspected the damage.

 _you had good reason, i take it?,_ he'd asked, and itienne had never heard anyone sound like that before. exasperated and still full of fondness, like her mother used to sound when she'd scolded her for returning home with bruised knees and stories full of adventure, but somehow still _more_ , full to the brim with things itienne couldn't quite name yet.

it was then that the white haired one had spoken, voice hoarse, gravely; something like smoke and ashes, something that spoke of ruins.

_they were trying to hurt children, aymeric._

and immediately itienne had known who he is. marcel had told her of his scuffle with some knights earlier that day, the miraculous turn it had taken.

 _fuck, aymeric, they were going to beat a child half to death for taking two damned apples,_ he'd shaken, then, with barely restrained fury, hands curled into fists, bruised knuckles white. _i had to._ a poignant pause had followed.

 _i will remedy this, i swear it to you,_ the black haired one had said, so full of conviction, so easy to believe.

_you'd better, o new lord commander aymeric de borel._

soon after, itienne had left — it wouldn't do to spy on such a private conversation after all. 

her mother had explained to her, once, about love and marriage, and how halone welcomes only husband and wife. itienne finds that explanation lacking now, because her mother has neglected to tell her of this love too, of what is obvious between those two knights. it seems just as sacred, just as full of devotion.

itienne does not tell anyone of what she's seen, how the two had talked and how the dark haired one — how aymeric, lord commander aymeric de borel, had rested his head on the silver haired one's shoulder, how their hands had rested, tangled together and how they'd looked so incredibly at peace next to each other.

it is not a secret for her to share. she'll keep it safe for them for as long as is necessary, and hope for better days — for them and for herself.

  
  


(years later, when the cursed war is over and there is finally peace, and then some years after that, too, a woman will barely catch a glimpse in passing — _she's always had keen eyes_ — and she will see estinien wyrmblood leave a peck on lord commander aymeric de borel's lips; she will see how they smile at each other, playful as children, before they slips away, disappear from view.

that day, she will return to her lover with a spring in her step, and tell her a story she has told no other soul.)

* * *

  1. _haze_



_thy kind knows only to take_.

it is an all encompassing voice that speaks somewhere from the depths of swirling, endless black, reverberating loud in the abyss, teeming with rage. there is no source, no beginning and no end, nothing but the voice and the anger it seethes.

nidhogg.

_selfish, arrogant, thou art._

estinien does not know how long it has been since azys lla, since this madness began. an eternity, perhaps? it feels like it. he floats, trapped in some unknown corner of his own mind, drowned by a grief, a rancor so ancient, so familiar he cannot get his bearings. every breath is agony, a reminder, _you took her, you took her from me_ , _i live and she does not._

kind, gentle ratatoskr — dead.

_this is a penance, mortal._

it is as if claws grip his heart, sharp, merciless talons tearing deep at his flesh to spill the most blood. a pain that repeats again and again and again, a wound that can never heal.

_suffer, as i have. as i do._

he does not know how long it has been since azys lla, since this madness began.

it only continues, endless, and it hurts and hurts and hurts.

* * *

falcon's nest is barely a blurry memory; flashes of a nightmare that slip between his fingers.

he remembers—

outrage, disgust, an unforgivable crime, _how dare you_ _kneel for peace, brood of hraesvelgr—_

a guttural roar, gae bolg piercing scales and flesh, sinking deep _, deep,_ vidofnir's blood warm on his hands, body growing limp underneath his feet—

then, aymeric.

aymeric, eyes wild, bow in his hands, the arrow nocked, loose—

he remembers thinking, distantly, _aim for the heart that you may kill me swiftly._

of course he doesn't — sweet, foolish aymeric, unwilling to give up on estinien even now.

the rest is lost to him in a haze of red.

* * *

_i know thy mind, vessel. i will take_ him _from thee like thou took tioman, like ratatoskr. it is only fair._

estinien screams himself hoarse in anguish. it doesn't matter — nidhogg does not speak to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got on a 4 hour bus ride, wrote some words on the way, here, take them off my hands


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, vaguely implied sexy times but nothing graphic?

  1. _boon_



all of his successes, his victories and titles and esteem, everything he has ever fought for and earned and won; it all _pales_ in comparison to this priceless boon that lies before him; a sight he hasn't dared to think he'd ever be allowed to see. a thousand prayers to the fury wouldn't even begin to express his gratitude.

maybe she would take offence in what they're doing — somehow aymeric cannot find it in himself to care, not when he can look upon a vision such as this instead.

this: estinien bare before him, cheeks flushed, lips bitten raw, breath hitching, shivering with every touch.

this: his own hands pressing against every mark, every scar, every ilm of warm skin, slow, gentle, learning estinien anew.

this: how he follows with his lips after, a permanent reminder, a mark, _i was here, i loved, i loved, i loved._

this: the small noises estinien does not quite bite down, half-swallowed moans and quiet whimpers, a symphony only for aymeric to hear.

it is heady, intoxicating — a rush of satisfaction that burns pleasurably in his gut, sings like liquid gold in his veins.

he has barely begun.

"what are you doing." estinien grits out, breathless, voice absolutely _wrecked_. something vicious inside aymeric preens, satisfied.

aymeric looks up at him, a wicked gleam in his eyes. he smiles innocently; moves back up in a languid motion and goes to move the hair out of estinien's face, to see him in full. such an intense fondness blossoms in his chest at the sight, warm and saccharine, euphoria at his fingertips.

"merely showing you the appreciation you deserve, my friend," and aymeric rests a hand on estinien's cheek, tilts his face just so, starts trailing little butterfly kisses across his jaw — _one, two, three_ , _four_ — until he reaches estinien's lips, bitten red and so, so sweet; a taste aymeric will be chasing after until the end of days.

"you waste your time," estinien hisses through gritted teeth, bites his tongue and darts his eyes away. 

"believe me, there is nothing else i'd like to be doing with my time." aymeric presses their foreheads together, makes sure estinien is looking him in the eyes, sees the things writ plain in them. "i have waited enough."

"waited?"

"from the start, my love," his voice comes out dark, heady; full of things he has kept hidden for so long. estinien's breath hitches. "from the very first day was i already done for."

something wild shines in estinien's eyes at the words, some barely restrained desire. aymeric wishes he would finally let go, would allow himself to accept this truth between them. he's more than willing to try to convince him.

"you're mad," estinien's voice comes out a growl and aymeric only grins, hungry, wolfish. 

estinien crushes their lips together. 

it quickly turns into something more desperate — a blaze that sears, ambrosia on his tongue, an all consuming desire. aymeric relishes in it. he guides estinien, turns the kiss more intimate, slower, deeper, lets him _take._

"have you lost your mind?" estinien pants against him, lips trailing, ghosting over aymeric's own. his hands tremble, tangled in aymeric's hair. "speaking such nonsense is unbecoming."

"allow me to show you then," he says, quiet, voice full of promises.

he fulfills all of them.

  
  


(it is a different thing, to look upon estinien in the morning light, to see all the places his lips have trailed, left proof of their ardor; to see the shine in his eyes and the way he flushes beautifully when he catches sight of aymeric looking unashamedly, the color a stark contrast against his pale skin. 

he cups estinien’s face with gentle hands, and for once does not bother to hide the damnably obvious love in his gaze. estinien looks startled, frozen, body tense like he’s ready to bolt, utterly disbelieving.

“good morning, my love.”

and so it is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk this one has jus been laying around since my birthday so here, take it off my hands pls

**Author's Note:**

> idk anything, dont look at me, i read the wonderful fic "splintered kneecaps" by aris and got hooked and now im here
> 
> ill probably end up writing more snippets and short scenes and post them here so you know, *vague hand gesture*, this exists i guess, there might be more
> 
> \----  
> INSPIRED AND greatly enabled by the lovely [xiv writing discord](https://discord.gg/2ameBy5) thats only furthered my love for the game, pls check our lil bookclub out :')


End file.
